


Sweater Vests and Shakespeare

by bluestbluetoeverblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming Out, First Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestbluetoeverblue/pseuds/bluestbluetoeverblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an English project becomes much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Vests and Shakespeare

Dean leaned back in his chair, chewing on the cap of a blue ball point pen. Across the kitchen table sat Castiel Novak, official class nerd. He wore the sweater vests and oversized glasses to prove it. If their bitch of an English teacher had to pair him with some high school loser, Dean was thankful it was at least someone who could keep their project from failing. Castiel coughed and adjusted his books on the table for the third time. His eyes raised to meet Dean’s bored stare. 

“I figured we could start with research-” Castiel said, the raspiness of his voice catching Dean off guard like it had every time since the first day he heard him speak in class. “Split the topics and each make notes for five. And if you write down where you get the information for yours, I could make a works cited. I’ve gotten pretty good at that.” 

“Do you make them in your free time?” Dean asked with a sarcastic bite.

“Um, no. I, uh-” Castiel looked down at the notebook in front of him, cheeks turning pink.

“Look,” Dean leaned forward, “this project is already a huge waste of my time, not to mention the fact that we got Shakespeare. I mean, the only thing I know about the guy is Romeo and Juliet from ninth grade, and it didn’t exactly make me wanna learn more.”

“Are you proposing we don’t do the project?” Castiel asked.

“Nah, I’m just saying that you shouldn’t expect too much. I’m not a straight a student, and my work ethic’s pretty flat.” 

“This project is worth half of our grade,” Castiel stood up, face like stone. “If you don’t do your share of the work at a decent level, I will request a different partner.”

“Woah, woah. Calm down. I’m gonna do the work. Just sit down and tell me exactly how you wanna split the research, and we’ll go from there. Jeez. You want a Coke?” Dean stood and walked to the refrigerator in the tiny kitchen of the house he shared with his father and brother.

Siping Coca Cola, the seventeen year olds planned and divided every piece of their semester-long project. Dean watched Castiel’s blue eyes behind his rectangular glasses flit from textbook to assignment to the notebook pages becoming covered in his scrawled writing. His raven hair was all over the place, clean of any and all product. They had three classes together but had never spoken before now. Dean didn’t talk to many people, though. He hung out with Chuck and Ash sometimes and third wheeled it with Jo and Bella, but more often than not he was on his own. The army jackets, unkempt style, motorcycle, and lack of conversational skills had given Dean a bit of a rebel-loner reputation that he liked, and this labeled him far far away from Castiel Novak with his sweater vests in every shade of blue imaginable and scuffed dress shoes.

“Um, I should probably go,” Castiel said, gathering his things and piling them into a canvas bag that he then put over his shoulder. “Is next Thursday a good day for me to come back? Will you be done with your research?”

“Sure,” Dean said, standing.

“Here.” Castiel handed him a piece of paper torn from his notebook. Dean could make out topic names and specific instructions. Probably a good thing considering he hadn’t taken any notes on what he had agreed to do. Dean nodded and led Castiel to the front door. The next week went the same, the third Castiel had to cancel for a ‘family situation’, and the fourth was spent half the time arguing over whether or not Shakespeare was in love with a black woman and the other half working in a semi productive manner. On the fifth Thursday, Dean answered the door half asleep and greeted Castiel with a curse and an apology about forgetting what day it was. Castiel stepped inside as Dean rubbed his eyes and began searching for his backpack. After giving up the search, he finally turned back around.

“Look, I’m really not feeling up to the whole project thing today. Do you think we could just skip this week?” Dean prepared himself for another one of Castiel’s surprising outbursts. They were always brought on by good cause but were unnatural to witness because Castiel was such a quiet person. Even after seeming to become comfortable enough around Dean, he was still silent most of the time, with the exception of when he was humming softly to himself. Dean was pretty sure that was unconscious, though. The guy choose his words carefully, and they were always of worth, not useless conversation. Dean respected that. 

“That’s alright,” Castiel said, and he gave an internal sigh of relief. “I’m exhausted from my geography test earlier. Would you mind if I stay around, though? I’m trying to avoid going home for a few hours.”

“Your parents?” Dean asked.

“Siblings, actually. My sister did something that upset my brother, so he got revenge on her, and now the entire house is filled with their yelling all afternoon.” Dean chuckled.

“No problem. We can hang out upstairs, if you want.”

Castiel’s all-too-polite persona did not falter inside the messy bedroom of a rebellious teenage boy, but he did feel comfortable invading part of Dean’s privacy. The boy squinted through his glasses as he crouched down by Dean’s bookcase, which contained exactly three books on the top shelves and was filled on the bottom with rows of vinyl. It had taken Dean years to build his collection, the beginning of which he had taken from his father’s boxes of abandoned belongings in the garage. One cardboard box had been labeled ‘Mary’ and contained the old Beatles record, Hey Jude. That was the start of Dean’s passion for music so many years ago. He watched Castiel thumb through the albums before standing and inspecting his record player. 

“I take it you like music?” Dean asked, leaning back in his desk chair. 

“I usually only hear whatever my siblings happen to be into at the moment,” Castiel said without looking up. “There is an old record player in my room that used to be my cousin’s, but I’m not sure if it even works.”

“You need to listen to some rock. Best kind of music there is.” Castiel turned to look at him and smiled, nodding. 

“I will.”

They didn’t do much besides talk and listen to music. Castiel enjoyed the Beatles a lot more than Dean would have expected, and he knew how to just sit and listen to a song, really taking it in. He knew he could get a bit geeky about his music, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind it. They talked about other things, primarily school, as would be expected of any two teenagers. Dean complained about the book they were being forced to read in English class and said that he had never enjoyed reading, and all the books they assigned were boring (with the exception of Wuthering Heights, which was surprisingly well written, though Dean would never admit it).

“You’ve been reading the wrong books, then,” Castiel said. He stood up from his seat on the edge of Dean’s bed and dug around in his bag, eventually pulling out a faded paperback. “Here.” He handed it to him.

“Misery?” Dean asked, running his fingers over the cover.

“It’s Stephen King. I think you’ll like it.” Dean stood up and walked across the small room. Biting his lip, his eyes scanned the bookshelf before coming upon the right record. He pulled Help! off the shelf and handed it to Castiel.

“In return for letting me borrow the book. Number twelve is my favorite.” Castiel smiled and slipped the record into his bag. 

***

Dean stood at Chuck’s locker telling him about the newest zombie movie and that the remake would never live up to the original. In the blur of people crowding the hall, Dean caught a glimpse of a blue sweatervest. Telling Chuck he’d catch him later, he jogged away into the sea of high school students.

“Cas!” He caught the blue-eyed boy by his locker. He seemed startled by Dean. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Is everything alright? Is there something about the project?”

“No, no. It’s this.” Dean held up the cover of Misery. “This. Book. Is. Brilliant.” The confusion on Castiel’s face was replaced with relief, then a smile.

“You like it?”

“I loved it. The whole thing was crazy awesome. I’ve never finished a book that fast before.” The smile widened.

“I could loan you another if you want. I think I might even have another King in here.” He began digging in his satchel and pulled out a copy of It. Dean recognized the title- the movie had terrified Sammy when he made the mistake of watching it a few years back. He wondered exactly how many books Cas carried around with him on a daily basis. It didn’t really matter, as long as he was still willing to loan some to his English partner. 

 

“This one’s a bit different, but you strike me as someone who would enjoy it.” Dean stared at the book in his hands. The pages were dog eared and creased, he could barely make out the cover, and the spine was cracked in multiple places.

“Sherlock Holmes?” he asked.

“It’s my favorite.” Cas glanced down at the notebook sitting on the kitchen table in front of him. It was covered with organized notes that had nothing to do with books or their conversation.

“Cool,” Dean said, and he swore he saw Cas smile. “I have a few more records I think you’d like, if you want. Just remind me before you leave. And thanks again. For the books.”

“DEAN!” They were interrupted by the screeching yells that could only be made by a boy in the middle of puberty who wanted something. Sam Winchester came bounding in the back door, dropping his backpack and slipping off his shoes to skid to a stop in front of the table where the boys sat. “Oh,” he said, “you’re not in your room.”

“Nope,” Dean said. “But if I were, it wouldn’t have killed you to walk up the stairs. This is Cas, by the way.” He gestured across the round table.

“Hi,” Sam said with a lopsided grin. “I’m Sam. Thanks for attempting to save my brother’s English grade.”

“Shut up.” Dean punched his little brother in the back. “Go do your homework in your room.”

“Whatever. Nice to meet you, Cas.” Sam smiled at the two and ran upstairs, chanting thanks to invisible gods about Dean’s small chance at maybe actually graduating someday. Dean shook his head.

“Sorry about that.”

“He seems sweet. You guys are cute,” Castiel said, smiling as he returned to his work. 

***

Dean drained the bottle of water like he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. He’d forgotten how exhausting it was to fix his bike. He loved working on cars or vehicles of any kind really, but trying to fix a mechanical problem wasn’t always how he imagined spending his Saturday afternoon. He sat on the cement of their driveway, beside his motorcycle that hopefully now worked, if Bobby had taught him anything. He remembered the day he’d gotten her. He turned sixteen a few days before, and he walked home one day to find a half broken down bike sitting in his front drive. Bobby told him that if he wanted to drive it, he had to fix it up himself. He was too old to do all the work around there, or something like that. When John finally asked about the bike a few weeks later, Dean said he’d bought it himself. Sometimes, lying was easier than starting a bunch of unnecessary family drama. Dean ran a hand along the shiny surface of the bike. There wasn’t anything in the world he was more proud of. 

A car pulled up to the street, an old ’64 Polara with a rickety sounding engine that was guaranteed to take you across country if you asked it to. Bella stuck her head out the window, Jo in the driver’s seat beside her. She shouted something about a movie. Dean shouted something about a clean shirt. She told him to hurry up, and he went inside the house, yelling for Sam.

***

They sat side by side on the floor in front of Dean’s unmade bed. Dean stretched his legs and their knees touched softly. He froze, pencil in the middle of writing the word besmirch, and moved his body an inch from Cas’ in one planned, careful movement. Breathing again, he continued working, the only noise in the room the scribble of their pencils on paper and the scratchy sounds of Fleetwood Mac coming from the record player.

“Dean,” came Cas’ rough voice from beside him, and Dean looked over. Before he knew what was happening, Cas’ lips were on his, dry and cracked. The kiss lasted less than two seconds before Cas pulled his head back. Their faces were inches apart, both boys frozen with eyes staring at each other. “I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered, close enough for Dean to smell his breath. Then Cas was gone, throwing books into his bag and grabbing his cardigan from the floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said without looking up, and rushed out the door. Only when Dean heard the front door slam downstairs was he able to move. His bedroom door creaked open, and Sam’s head popped in. 

“What’s going on?” Sam asked with a concerned expression. 

“Nothing,” Dean said in a long breath. “Nothing.” 

Sam stared at his brother for a minute with a worried expression before retreating back to his own room. Dean still sat on the floor by his bed, hand raised to his face, fingers grazing his lips. The text came while Dean was making spaghetti for his and Sam’s dinner. Dean read it a few hours later when he found his phone in between two couch cushions. While Sam became engrossed in a new episode of Doctor Who, Dean read Cas’ typed words: I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I hope this doesn’t mess everything up. I’m sorry. He stood and grabbed his keys off the table.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, muting the TV.

“I have to do something. Stay here. I’ll be back before the episode is over.” Grabbing a jacket on his way to the door, Dean headed for his bike in the driveway. 

There were lights on in the house when Dean pulled up, but no one answered the first time he rang the doorbell. He rang again and knocked loudly. Finally, the front door swung open to reveal a tall girl with bright red hair dripping with water and pale skin standing in a t-shirt and boy shorts. Dean’s mind went blank, and the girl squinted at him in an all too familiar way. 

“Dean Winchester?” she said. Dean nodded. She turned her head inside the house and yelled, “IT’S HIM, CASTIEL, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.” Looking back at Dean, she smiled slightly and headed back inside and up a visible flight of stairs yelling, “THIS IS WHY THE GIRL IN HER UNDERWEAR SHOULDN’T HAVE TO ANSWER THE FREAKING DOOR, JESUS.” 

Dean stood uncomfortably at the threshold, the front door standing open. He could see part of a barren living room and a hallway leading back into a room he couldn’t fully see. After a minute, Castiel appeared in the doorway. Before they could say anything, voices came from the staircase and Cas led Dean outside, closing the door. They stood on the front porch.

“Dean,” Cas said with a disgusted look on his face, “I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was doing. We’re not done with the project yet, and I kind of thought we were maybe becoming friends or something, and I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t want this to ruin everything or become awkward. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Cas,” he replied, grabbing his friend’s hand to stop him from rambling anymore. Castiel looked up, and Dean saw the worry in those blue blue blue eyes. Then his hands were clutching Cas’ face and his lips were attacking Cas’ lips, and he could feel Castiel stiffen in surprise, then hold still in momentary debate before his lips relaxed against Dean’s and his hands found a place on Dean’s back. The boys pulled apart at the sound of cheering and turned to see Cas’ brother and sister peering out the window, his brother making cat calls. Dean’s face blushed beet red and a pink-faced Castiel laughed, flashing his siblings a middle finger before kissing Dean again.

***

“We really have to get to work.” Castiel looked up with an expression that was trying too hard to be serious. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean said, “I’m learning so much about Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway right now, it’s not even funny.” Castiel sighed and turned his attention back to the library book in front of him only to have Dean start playing footsie under the table again a few minutes later. Dean didn’t care that he was acting like a seventh grade girl, it was too fun watching Cas get all flustered. Finally, Castiel started playing back, smiles flashing across both their faces. The smiles disappeared when the front door slammed open. 

“Dad,” Dean said, standing up. John Winchester glanced at his son and the stranger sitting at the kitchen table with way too formal clothing before heading to the kitchen. “I thought you were working tonight.” Or getting drunk at a bar instead of here. 

“Mike sent me home. Said I’ve worked too many hours this week.” John grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and started to the living room.

“Oh. This is Cas. We’re working on an English project.” John looked up at the boys and nodded. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, looking in Castiel’s general direction.

“You too, sir,” Cas said. John flopped down on the couch, took a gulp of his beer, and turned on the TV.

“Come on,” Dean said. “We should go work upstairs.” 

Though within a few minutes work turned into making out. This time, the fooling around was at least initiated by Cas. They were weeks ahead on their project anyway, and it was much more fun to kiss and run his hands up Cas’ shirt. The nerd was surprisingly muscular under his sweater vests and ironed button-ups, and Dean enjoyed that fact. After six o’clock came, Cas finally decided that he needed to go home and finish the rest of his homework. Dean agreed regretfully and walked him out, planting one more quick kiss on his lips right outside the front door. Dean was sitting in his room, ordering pizza when Sam came in and sat on the bed. He finished telling the operator the order and hung up the phone, turning his attention to his little brother.

“What’s up?” Dean asked. Sam stared at him without saying a word. “What is it?”

“You and Cas…?” Sam said finally. 

“What about me and Cas? We’re working on our English project.”

“Really, Dean?” Sam sighed, “Dad might be drunk and gone enough to be blind, but I’m not.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I know you and Cas are together or dating or whatever it is.”

“Look, whatever you think you saw-”

“I see the way you guys look at each other. And your little smirks you give him that are different from your normal annoying expressions. I’m thirteen, Dean, not stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean sighed, sitting on the bed next to him. “Are you mad?”

“Kind of. I mean, we tell each other everything, Dean. We always have. It’s you and me, remember? You said that no matter what happens it’d always be the two of us. But you couldn’t even tell me that you’re gay.”

“I’m not gay,” Dean said, glancing at the door as if their father would come in any moment. “I...I’m not.”

“Okay, then you’re bi. But why couldn’t you tell me?” 

Dean had never wanted to consider that. He had always found Captain Jack Harkness just as attractive as Amy Pond, but he’d tried to write it off as respect for the guy. And respect for every other attractive dude on the planet. Jesus, he made out with a guy on a regular basis, but couldn’t even bring himself to say the word out loud.

“Sammy,” Dean said, “I’m sorry. I was scared that you wouldn’t see me the same way if you knew. I was stupid.”

“Yeah you were. Jeez.” Sam shook his head and stood up. In the hallway, he poked his head back in the door. “You guys make a cute couple, by the way.” He smirked, and Dean threw a pillow at his face. He heard Sam’s laughter travel down the hall to his room. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” he whispered. 

***

Dean sat cross legged on his bed, watching as Castiel walked around his room. Cas inspected Dean’s belongings, running a hand over the surface of Dean’s cluttered desk. He stopped and picked up a picture frame. 

“Your mom?” he asked, looking at Dean. Dean nodded, green eyes glancing at the photograph of him and Mary that was taken on his sixth birthday. Her blonde hair fell around both of their faces as she rested her chin on the top of his head. Dean was looking up at her, smiling wide. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Our house back in Kansas caught fire in the middle of the night, and she got caught inside. Dad tried to get her out, but he was too late. I was seven when it happened, and I remember we were that irritatingly great family that sent out Christmas cards. They were the best parents as far as I was concerned, but when Mom died, he started drinking.”

“Grief can do strange things,” Cas said, setting down the photo and taking a seat beside Dean. “Is that why you moved here?”

“Yeah. Bobby and my dad were in the Marines together, so he packed everything we had, left, and drove up here. You know Jo Harvelle from school?” Cas nodded. “Her mom and Bobby are married, and they kind of took us in. Bobby gave Dad a job at his garage for a while before we got the house and Dad became a trucker. Ellen and Bobby raised us as much as they could without pissing him off.”

“That’s why Jo and her friends are the only ones you talk to at school.” Dean nodded.

“They’re our family, and that’s not a word Sam and I use lightly. You need to meet them sometime.” Cas smiled.

“I’d love that.”

Dean stretched out, leaning back on his elbows to look up at Cas. “So what about your family? You never really mention your parents.” Cas glanced away for a moment before readjusting so that he was sitting perpendicular to Dean’s outstretched body. Castiel traced his fingers over Dean’s abdomen, feeling his muscles tighten automatically beneath his shirt. 

“My parents live in Seattle. They’re both neurosurgeons at a hospital there. My brother Gabriel graduated and got out of the house as soon as possible. He moved here to stay with my cousin Balthazar for a while before Balthazar got married and bought a new house with his wife. He lets Gabe rent his old place for a ridiculously low amount because we live with him.”

“You and your sister?” Dean asked. He nodded.

“When Anna was fifteen, she told our parents that she was dating a girl. They handed her a Bible and told her to get out, so she moved in with Gabe. I threatened to go with her, and they didn’t try to stop me, so I did.”

“Wow, who knew you were such a rebellious youth,” Dean teased, pulling a smile from Cas. “Do they know that you’re…?”

“Gay? I don’t think so. We hear from them once at Christmas every year; they say that they’re praying for us. Then Gabe tells them to go screw themselves, and we continue eating overcooked ham like they don’t exist. I don’t think it would make a difference what they knew about us.” Dean grabbed Cas’ hand as it grazed his ribcage.

“That’s gotta be rough. I’m sorry.” Cas shook his head.

“Don’t be. The three of us are a family, and we couldn’t be happier.” He turned around and let his head rest on Dean’s stomach. “I found the note in my locker, by the way.”  
Dean bit his lip, remembering the note. He’d scrawled it on a piece of notebook paper: I haven’t really done anything like this before, but I think this much making out usually constitutes a relationship. The moment Dean slipped the folded paper through the slits in Cas’ locker, a nervous pit had appeared in his stomach. Now was the moment of truth.   
“And?” Dean asked, failing to keep the nervous flutter from his voice. 

“I’ve never dated anyone else before you.” Dean couldn’t control his smile. He sat up, allowing Cas’ head to slip softly onto the mattress, and he gave his boyfriend a kiss. 

 

“You know,” Dean said, looking up from the computer screen, “if we’re an official thing now, then we should probably go on a real date. One that doesn’t include Shakespeare and takes place somewhere besides my house.” 

“What exactly are you proposing?” Cas asked, pausing his skimming of Macbeth. Dean thought for a moment.

“How do you feel about slushies and pizza?”

Dean felt ridiculous. His was wearing his nicest pair of jeans and an ACDC t-shirt underneath an open button-up that he’d had to ask Sam for help ironing. (Turns out the thirteen year old who had yet to understand the concept of needing to look nice to eat pizza with someone couldn’t operate their decade old iron very well either, and the shirt remained wrinkled. Dean should have gone to the Roadhouse and asked Ellen or Jo to do it; the years of resulting teasing would have been worth it.) Then there was the fact that his hair would not cooperate, probably because he had never touched it much before besides to run a comb through it once in the morning. Dean wasn’t even sure why he was so concerned with looking nice. Cas had come over to find Dean wearing sweatpants and stained tank tops or covered in motor oil on multiple occasions. For some reason, tonight was different. Dean parked his bike in the driveway and walked nervously up the porch steps, smoothing his shirt down for the seven hundredth time and unrolling his sleeves just to roll them back up again at the last minute. He rang the doorbell, and this time didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds. 

A man in his early twenties appeared at the door with disheveled black hair, pajama pants covered in pink and purple polka dots from the women’s section, and wild, whiskey-colored eyes. He grabbed Dean by the shoulder and pulled him into the house without any warning. Dean found himself sitting on a scratchy green chair in the living room across from Cas’ older siblings. He gave an uncomfortable cough as the two stared him down without a word. 

“So…”

“Are you planning on having pre-marital sex with our little brother?” Dean didn’t know much about Anna Novak, but she sure knew how to get to the point. 

“Um, I hadn’t really thought about it.” Dean said. Gabriel laughed.

“First of all, that’s bullshit. Second, Anna we were going to say relations. It makes us sound older and more intimidating.”

“Shut up,” the redhead hit her brother. “Do you know how to buy a condom?”

“Um yeah. I guess so.” Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Look,” Anna said, leaning forward. “I don’t care that I’m making you uncomfortable. Because, as you might have noticed, Castiel doesn’t have a lot of friends. He doesn’t talk to many people, and I know you don’t either, but that doesn’t change things. He likes you. A lot.”

“Really?” Dean asked, eyes lighting up before he realized how excited he looked. Anna sat back a bit. 

“He likes being your friend. He likes you. And he likes you. But I sure as hell haven’t seen you reciprocate much. You kissed him on the porch, sure, but you two barely talk at school.” 

Dean didn’t mean to say it. He hadn’t planned on telling Castiel’s harshly intrusive siblings anything about himself, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them: “My dad doesn’t know.” Anna and Gabe both squinted at him, waiting. “I’m not out to anyone, I mean except my brother, but I can’t tell my dad, and Cas knows that. We don’t really talk at school because Cas cares about his work a lot more than I do, and I care about people knowing I like dudes a lot more than he does.”

Before either Novak had a chance to react or respond, footsteps came running down the stairs, and Cas appeared wearing black jeans and a turquoise cardigan. His hair was ruffled in the perfect messy way, and Dean had to stare at him for a minute before he could get a coherent thought through his mind. 

“You guys are assholes,” Cas said, shaking his head. 

“How did you get out?” Anna asked as everyone stood.

“You underestimate my lock-picking abilities, sister.” Cas smirked. Gabe laughed and smacked his brother lightly on the back. “Let’s go,” he said to Dean. 

“Look,” Gabe whispered in Dean’s ear as Cas was walking out onto the porch, “just be good to him, okay?” Dean nodded. 

***

“I’m sorry about Gabe and Anna. I hope they didn’t freak you out too much.” Castiel continued his tenth apology while Dean took their helmets and set them on the parked bike. He told him it was no big deal, more cute than anything, for the tenth time as they made their way inside. “A roller rink, huh?” Cas asked, surveying the figure eighting thirteen year olds as the smell of cotton candy and popcorn reached his nose. 

“I hope it’s okay. Can you skate?” Dean looked over at him. Cas laughed.

“When I was twelve Gabe was having a fling with the manager of our local roller rink. He dragged me there three days a week as an excuse to see the guy, and after I got bored of the arcade, there wasn’t much else to do but skate.” Now Dean was laughing.

They purchased neon green wristbands and went to a counter where they each received a pair of smelly skates with worn laces before going to sit and put them on. Cas was still lacing his up when Dean stood and promptly tripped and fell down, landing flat with his legs out in front of him. Cas was quick to help him up, but Dean brushed him away.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, wobbling and grabbing the wall for support. They made their way onto the rink carefully, Dean taking large steps with his heavy feet. On the glossed surface, Castiel began skating easily, while Dean fell again. Cas retreated and helped him up, almost getting plowed over by a seven year old in rollerblades in the process. Dean stood, huffed, wiped the dust off his jeans, and used the wall to skate forward a few feet before he began to tip again. Cas swooped behind him, placing one hand on Dean’s back to steady him and sticking the other out to gain more balance for himself. 

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” Castiel said, brow furrowing as Dean struggled to stay up.

“No, I’m fine. This is great. It’s just been a while.”

“How long?” Cas asked.

“Uh, well we still lived in Kansas, so...ten years?”

“Oh my god, Dean.”

“Third Commandment,” he teased, prompting Cas to push him lightly and grab him when he began to fall as a result. Dean gripped the wall with one hand and Cas’ arm with the other, breath coming out through grit teeth. 

“This is your karma for being so sarcastic all the time,” Castiel said with a laugh.

“You know what Cas?” Dean said with a clenching jaw. “You’re not helping.” He laughed harder. 

The two made it around the rink three times in a few hours, Dean holding onto Cas’ arm the entire time. When he finally admitted that he was having a miserable time, they returned their skates and bought some pizza and artificial cherry flavored slushies. Dean ate the pepperoni off Castiel’s slice of pizza while Cas teased him about the skating. Dean kicked him under the table before standing up with their empty plates. When he returned from the garbage, Cas kissed him on the cheek and hooked their arms together at the elbows. It was so old-fashioned and adorable and so very Cas that Dean had to grin. 

***

“So what’s up with you and that Novak kid? The nerdy one with the sweater vests? I saw you guys talking at school the other day.” Dean froze. He was helping carry boxes and crates at the Roadhouse and doing inventory like he always did when they were closed and he wanted to get out of the house. Jo stood at the bar counting boxes of alcohol. 

“He’s my partner for that English project for old hag, Warner.” Dean added to the stacks on the ground. 

“God, she’s such a bitch, isn’t she?” Jo said, marking up a clipboard. “When Chuck and I were dating she caught us making out in the south stairwell; detention for three weeks.”

“Jeez,” Dean said. 

“Yeah. Speaking of, what about you? You seeing anyone?” Dean shrugged.

“Not really into the whole ladies’ man thing right now.”

“Oh come on,” she said, “you’ve made out with half the girls in our class, not to mention the underclassmen.”

“True,” came Bella’s voice as she carried in a crate of napkins and stirring sticks.   
“I mean, you even got to second base with me.”

“And it was glorious,” Dean said with a wide smile, bringing a laugh from Bella. 

“You guys are disgusting,” Jo complained. They laughed harder. 

***

Castiel’s face was an inch from Dean’s shoulder, and Dean could feel the warmth of his breath on his skin. He held the black sleeve of Dean’s t-shirt pushed up with one hand and a Sharpie in the other. The marker tickled over Dean’s upper arm as Cas carefully gave his first freehand tattoo. 

“There,” Cas said, sitting back to admire his work. The symbol was a bit disproportionate in some areas, but he did a pretty good replica. “You are now protected from demonic possession.” 

“You sure are getting into this whole angels and demons thing, huh?” Dean chuckled. Cas blushed, and before he could apologize for anything that needed no apology, Dean leaned forward and kissed him. When he pulled his face away, Castiel was smiling. “So,” Dean said, grabbing the marker and doodling a crappily-drawn heart on Cas’ hand, “do you wanna come to dinner with me at Bobby and Ellen’s tomorrow?”

“Are you sure?” Cas looked up at him, blue eyes melting the butterflies in his stomach. 

“Positive.” He smiled.

“Of course I want to go.”

 

Dean’s fingers nervously tapped the steering wheel of his father’s Impala. Cas sat in the passenger seat nodding at everything he said. 

“Bobby’s pretty laid back, but Ellen may seem a bit judgemental at first, she means well but everyone feels that way around her, and under no circumstances should you listen to anything Jo says whatsoever.” 

“Jeez,” Sam interrupted from the back seat, “he’s gonna be fine. Dean, do you really think there’s gonna be a nuclear meltdown because you brought a boy to dinner?” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as Cas grinned at Sam. “They spend almost as much time with you as I do, and I sure as hell wasn’t surprised.”

“Your brother is right,” Castiel said, grabbing Dean’s right hand. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“I like him,” Sam said, settling back into his seat and shaking his head. Dean couldn’t keep from laughing. 

The moment they walked into the old, creaky house, Sam headed for the smell of chili coming from the kitchen, leaving them in the entryway. Dean took Cas’ oversized trench coat and hung it on a hook beside his leather one. By the time he turned back around, Bobby was grabbing him into a bear hug to match all others. After complaining of lack of ability to breathe, the man released Dean and patted him on the back.

“Boy, it’s been too long. You haven’t spent a weekend at the garage in months, and ya’ll don’t come by very often for dinner anymore.”

“Sorry, Bobby. We’ve just been busy with school and everything. This is Cas; I hope it’s okay I brought him.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Castiel said, sticking his right hand out. Bobby shook it firmly.

“The pleasure is mine. Any friend of a Winchester is welcome here.” Bobby grinned and led the boys into the dining room, where Sam was already devouring a second piece of cornbread. Ellen was shaking her head as Jo tried her best to steal the food from Sam and he kept hitting her hand away. Bobby sat beside Ellen, and Dean sat beside him with Cas taking the seat on his right. 

“Hey,” Jo abandoned the cornbread war when she glanced up. “You’re Castiel Novak, right? We have AP chem together.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “I hope you don’t mind Dean inviting me. I don’t mean to intrude.” 

“Not at all.” Ellen began to fill another bowl with chili. “We’re glad to have you. Dean, it’s been long enough since you’ve been to one of these dinners.”

“I’m sorry, Ellen. I didn’t mean to stay away.” Dean didn’t realize that this was the most respectful Cas had ever seen him be. He swallowed a huge bite of chili. “I certainly didn’t mean to stay away from real cooking either.”

 

“I promise,” Dean said for the third time. “Next week. I’m not missing another one of your burger nights ever again.” Ellen laughed. 

“Good.” Bobby and Jo walked Sam and Dean out to the Impala, while Cas stayed behind a minute. Ellen smiled watching her three kids tripping and teasing each other while Bobby shook his head walking after them. 

“Mrs. Singer?” Cas asked.

“Please, Ellen.” Castiel nodded.

“Ellen. I wanted to say thank you for dinner and for having me. You have a beautiful family.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Castiel. I’m glad Dean has a friend like you.” Cas nodded again, looking down for a moment. Ellen stepped closer and looked into the teenager’s eyes. “That boy has been through a lot. He has some flaws, God knows we all do, but if I’ve learned one thing for sure in ten years of having the kid at my dinner table, it’s that he loves fiercely. Will you do me a favor, Castiel?”

“Yes ma’am,” he found himself whispering even though no one else was within hearing distance. 

“Try not to hurt him, okay?” Ellen smiled sadly, and Cas nodded again.

***

“He’s hot.”

Dean looked up, startled. The broom in his hand stopped sweeping as he stared at Jo, who sat smiling behind the bar, counting money from the register. 

“I mean, in a sweater vest kinda way.”

“What?” Dean asked, still unable to move. Jo’s smile widened.

“Come on, Dean. It was painfully obvious. Even Bobby could tell that you two were dating, and he wouldn’t notice if Mom dyed her hair purple.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking abo-”

“Oh shut up. You and Cas made googly eyes at each other like there was no tomorrow, and you both really need to buy some chapstick. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.”

“I thought you guys would, I don’t know, see me differently.”

“Well, Bobby was glad there was a reason why you’ve stopped going to the garage on weekends; he thought you were tired of hanging out with him. Mom’s happy you’ve started taking things seriously and stopped making out with random chicks and Bella. And I, well the only thing I could think was damn, you managed to find an attractive guy with a decent gpa in our shitty high school. I’m kind of impressed.”

Dean laughed, shook his head, and started sweeping again. As always, he had been an idiot. Of course they accepted him. Of course they like Cas. 

“Hey Jo,” the blonde looked up from the register. “You should see him shirtless.” Dean grinned, and she threw a dish towel at him. 

***

“We should work on the project,” Castiel said as rain pelted the window outside. They sat side by side on the floor in Dean’s bedroom, books and school supplies spread out before them. 

“But you already helped me with my pre-cal, and I don’t care about William Shakespeare, I care about you. We haven’t spent any real time together all week.”

“It’s not my fault your father has been home so much,” Castiel said.

“I know, but he’s not supposed to get off early today.” Dean traced circles into Castiel’s thigh with his index finger. “Come on, Cas.” He reached over and ran his lips along Castiel’s jawline, eventually kissing his neck. Cas ran a hand through Dean’s hair and sighed. 

“Fine,” he said with a smile, as if he was ever going to give any other answer. 

When the door opened, the boy’s tongues where in each other’s mouths, and Dean’s arms were under Cas’ shirt. It’s pretty amazing how fast fear can make you move though, because the instant the door hinges started to squeak, Dean was five inches away from Cas and holding a textbook. Castiel was stunned for a second before he picked up a notebook and became intensely focused on his notes. He licked his lips just as John Winchester stepped into the room. The man surveyed the studying happening and turned to his son. 

“Have you seen my wallet?” he asked. Dean shook his head.

“Check the laundry.” John nodded and left the room without another glance at the boys. Once the door closed, Dean breathed and tossed the book away. “That was close.” Cas was still staring at the notebook when Dean put a hand over his. 

“I think you should tell your dad,” Cas said without looking up.

“What?” Dean pulled his hand away, and when Castiel finally looked up at him, their bright eyes searched each other. 

“He’s going to find out eventually, and frankly, I’m tired of having to pretend when I come over. I understand about school, I’m not even sure if I’m ready for a bunch of hormonal, insensitive teenagers to know that I’m gay, but your father is different.”

“You don’t get it-”

“What, parents not accepting your sexuality? I don’t get that? You don’t get that, Dean, because your dad has no idea that you’re not straight. Everyone you’ve ever told has been accepting, why are you so sure he won’t be?”

“Because you don’t know him like I do! You never listened to him stumble in drunk at night or hear his poker buddies talk about how one of their nephews is queer. So yeah, Cas, you don’t get it. And I don’t get why my dad needs to know that I’m not straight in order for you to take this relationship seriously!”

“Are you kidding? Everyone I care about knows about us. Even my cousin, for Christ’s sake. I kissed you, remember? I gave us a label. I have accepted the fact that I’m gay.” Dean paused and glared at him.

“Are you saying that I haven’t accepted who I am? I told all but one member of my family that I’m dating a dude! Shit, I take you out on dates in public, but I haven’t accepted who I am?”

“You can’t even say it, Dean! Come on, say it: bisexual.” 

“Screw you, Cas.” Castiel huffed and shook his head before standing and putting his bag over his shoulder. 

“When you figure out how to be happy with yourself, call me.”

***

The pounding on the door continued. Dean’s ignoring it continued. He sat at his desk drawing stupid, loopy circles on a piece of notebook paper while the most depressing album he owned played in the background. The knocking subsided, but Dean’s hopes were dashed when the door opened anyway.

“Dean?” Sam asked from the doorway.

“I’m busy.”

“Staring at pictures of Cas? Yeah, I can see your phone and hear your sad music.”

“What do you want, Sam?”

“Look, I don’t know what happened with you two, but you really need to stop moping around in here, because A) it’s not going to help anything and B) Dad has the weekend off, and he keeps complaining that you’ve become a recluse.”

“He’ll survive.”

“Well I’m sleeping over at Kevin’s tonight, and someone needs to make sure Dad can’t find his keys if he gets too drunk.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it. I always take care of him.” There was silence for a minute. 

“Hey Dean?”

“Mhm.”

“Whatever it was that happened, I’m sorry. I know you liked him a lot, and I could tell he did too. Anyways, I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, Sammy.” Another moment of silence. 

“Jerk.” Dean paused, pen poised in the dark tunnel being made by its point. Sam’s voice was one of questioning, wonder, worry. Dean had a family that loved him and even a few really great friends, but no one would ever know him like his little brother did. Only Sam could see past Dean’s best facade, he always had. There was exactly one reason why Dean had gotten help back in junior high when he kept one razor blade for puberty and one for soothing the pain, and he was lanky with shaggy brown hair. 

“Bitch.”

Sam was long gone by the time Dean turned off his record player and slumped down the stairs. He hadn’t bothered to order dinner and was starting to get hungry. The thought of day-old pizza waiting in the kitchen prompted a change of scenery. John sat on the couch watching some action movie with bad graphics from the 80s. Five beer bottles sat on the table beside him. 

“And the princess descends from her ivory tower,” John said as Dean made his way to the fridge. He returned with two slices of cold pizza in hand, one missing the bite he was chewing. “I never see you any more.”

“Maybe if you were...sorry. I had a lot of homework.”

“If only I believed you spent that much time on homework.” John laughed and took a swig of his beer. Dean set the pizza on the kitchen table. He wasn’t sure what gave him that moment of confidence. It could have been the fresh air after leaving his room for the first time in days. Or the fact that his thirteen year old brother was at a sleepover worrying about whether their father was drinking responsibly. Maybe it was that bite of cold pizza. Whatever it was, it made Dean stand in front of the television set and speak to his father in a controlled voice that he himself had never heard before. It made him think everything was going to be alright, whether that was true or not. 

***

One unheard message. First unheard message:  
→ Cas, this is Jo. Harvelle. I’m not even sure if I have the right number, but you might want to come over. Dean’s, uh, going through something. Call me back.

***

Dean could hear them. Every five or ten minutes, one of them would poke their head into the room as quietly as they could. He wasn’t sure what they expected to be different each time. Bobby sighed whenever he looked in; Jo dragged her feet too much and he could picture her biting her lip, brow furrowed. Ellen was the silent one. There was no sound, but he could feel her staring at him, worrying. Eyes open or not, he could see his second mother glaring at him, hear her internal debate on whether or not she could get away with murder. He was pretty sure it was her who draped the blanket over him, as he was pretty sure they all thought he was asleep. Really, it was surprising that they kept this routine of checking on him up for what must have been a couple hours. The thought of them caring enough made him warm inside for a moment, but that warmth quickly turned to stale sadness. He heard footsteps right on schedule, but then came the sound of the door being opened further than the few inches needed to see inside. The footsteps approached the bed and stopped. Stubbornly, Dean opened his eyes. 

Cas stood beside the bed in gray sweatpants and a wrinkled sweater that hung outstretched on his lean frame. His hair was ruffled in a way different than that which made it so distracting normally, and worry lines covered his face. Without a word, Cas lifted the edge of the comforter and slipped into the bed beside him. He slid up close and wrapped his arms around Dean, who was enveloped in warmth as he buried his face in Castiel’s chest. The thin fabric of Cas’ sweater was soon damp with tears, and as Dean shook, Cas held him. Time passed, Dean ran out of tears, and Cas loosened his grip enough for them to be able to sit up and see each other’s faces. 

“I told him.” Dean looked up, eyelashes still wet. “I told him that I’m bi.”

“Dean,” Castiel said in a sick voice, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it was time. You were right. I needed to tell him. I just, I mean, I didn’t expect him to actually throw me out.” His voice cracked, and he put his head in his hands. Cas grabbed his shoulders firmly.

“Dean, I need you to hear me. You’re a really amazing person, okay? You only let a handful of people know that, and I don’t think you’re even one of them, but you are. You’re fantastic. And if your father can’t see that because you like kissing boys, then fuck him. There are plenty of people willing to love you. You’re going to be perfectly fine without him, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

Dean sat on the cool sand, turning a gray stone over and over in his hand, watching small waves lap up onto the lake shore. Cas walked up on unsteady feet and sat down, handing him a chocolate ice cream cone and working on a mint-chip one of his own. They didn’t say anything for a while, just sat and watched fishing boats disappear from the surface of the lake as the sky faded. Cas shivered, and Dean attempted to stretch his leather jacket across both their shoulders. Castiel smiled at the effort and kissed his cheek. Dean drew designs in the sand with his hand.

“Better than the roller rink?” he asked.

“Quieter,” Cas said, “but I like watching you try to skate.” They both laughed.

“Yeah, I like feeding you popcorn at the movies.”

“It’s a shame I never quite catch most of the film when we go.” Castiel grinned and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. 

***

Dean couldn’t stop glancing out the window. He was convinced that his father’s car would pull into the driveway where Bobby’s truck idled and John would race up the stairs to scream at him for stepping foot back inside. He never came, though, and Dean was left to fill his duffel bag in peace. There wasn’t much to take; clothes, a few books, his record player and music collection, photos and an old baby blanket. Sam walked in and set a few bags of his own on the ground before handing Dean a stack of movie cases. 

“These won’t fit, will you put them in your bag?” the thirteen year old asked.

“Sammy, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you to Bobby and Ellen’s.”

“No, you’re not. You have to stay here.”

“Why? So I can sit and watch Dad drink himself to death? Deal with his shit all on my own? It’s not like he’d even come after me; he doesn’t care. Please don’t leave me in this house.” Dean paused and closed his eyes.

“Don’t let Ellen hear you using that language.”

“Thank you, Dean! Thank you.”

“Yeah yeah.” He took care tucking Sam’s Doctor Who dvds into a backpack. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.” 

They packed everything they owned themselves, which wasn’t much yet didn’t leave much in the house either and sat on the stripped bed for a minute, staring at Dean’s barren desk. Even his model cars from sixth and seventh grade were packed away. Dean knew Bobby was waiting outside for them, but he was still working up the nerve to walk out. All crap aside, this was their home.

“Hey Dean?” Sam asked. 

“Mhm?”

“Why is Dad the way he is?” This caught Dean off guard. Sam hadn’t ever asked him something like that before, and he had no idea what to say. He’d spent years lying in bed at night, wondering why his father was this way, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that he and Sam wouldn’t end up the same. Sam was different, though. He always was. The kid was smart and ambitious and so empathetic it was ridiculous. Dean’s memories of their mother were so much like Sam, and he could feel his likeness to his father. It scared him to death. John may not have given him much as far as advice for the world, but he was the reason why Dean didn’t drink at parties, and why he always drove friends home who did. He just hoped that was enough of a fight to win against genetic inheritance. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally, looking at his little brother who was almost taller than him already (when had that happened?). “I think he loved Mom too much.” Dean felt the urge to add on some sort of brotherly words of wisdom, though he was severely lacking in that department. “Love is a good thing,” he said, “but sometimes it can make people into something they aren’t supposed to be.” Sam nodded.

“Do you love Cas?” What was with this kid and terrifying questions today?

“Maybe. Yeah, I do.”

“That’s cool. Doesn’t it scare you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam punched his brother on the shoulder and grabbed a duffel bag, “he’ll probably come to his senses soon and dump you for some ripped jock with jello for a brain.” Dean smiled.

“Thanks, Sammy.”


End file.
